


For You

by notcrazyipromise



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: (it's yoi but with phan ok), Fluff, Ice Skating, M/M, them being athletic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 00:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14605239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcrazyipromise/pseuds/notcrazyipromise
Summary: dan and phil as ice skaters at the olympics





	For You

**Author's Note:**

> hey i don't ice skate and i didn't do much research besides watching tv so pardon my innumerable inevitable errors when trying to name things ok also i don't know how human anatomy works so pls ignore the fact that two grownass six foot tall men are throwing each other in the air while skating

“It’s time.”  
I looked over at Phil, his eyes wide and blue irises shimmering in excitement and a little bit of nervousness. I grinned and jumped up from the bench.  
“It’s time? Let’s go.”  
It was time. Time for the Olympic Games. I heard the people in the stands cheering and yelling distantly, the sound familiar and exhilarating. Sometimes I wondered if I liked skating for the adrenaline rush alone. I helped Phil up, keeping his hand clasped in mine, because Phil wasn’t an adrenaline junkie like me. He curved his lips in a small smile, and I squeezed his hand tightly.  
“We have a few minutes,” I whispered in his ear, and led him into a small but elegantly decorated bathroom. They really hadn’t skimped on the decorations this year. I closed and locked the door behind me, and I hugged Phil real tight. He breathed fast when he was nervous, and as I listened to the heaving of his chest slowly becoming calmer, I traced my fingers firmly on his back, avoiding the sequins but giving him a mini massage.  
“I’m good. I’m-yeah. It’s good. I’m ready.” Phil said, nodding and untangling himself from me. He went over to the sink and turns the hot water on, soaking his hands in it for a minute.  
“We have...about five minutes before going on the ice.” I slipped my phone back into my coat pocket and started lacing up my skates.  
“Oh god. Alright. Cool. Let’s do this.” Phil dried his hands and held mine, his hands surprisingly warm despite the frigid air of the rink. I laced up his skates and we left, trying our best to be sneaky and avoid cameras.  
PJ, our coach, flitted over us for a bit before telling us to go and sit and behave (and try not to make out live on camera), and we did as he said. I tapped on Phil’s chest to remind him to do the breathing exercises, and I felt his hands relax.  
“Remember the spin? The stupid one with the tangly thing?” Phil asked, tugging me down to the bench.  
“Yeah? I fucking hope I remember it.” I mutter. I hated that spin. I threw so many hissy fits over it in my room in private to my pillow.  
“So the throw after that, can we make it a quad throw?” Phil looks at me earnestly, his face betraying no sarcastic emotion.  
“A what?” I whisper-yelled. We had landed about two thirds of our quads but we already packed two into the program. A third might guarantee success, but I doubted my abilities.  
“A quad? You know, those things.” Phil motioned our coach over. “Let’s talk about it with PJ.”  
“Phil, we have four minutes until we’re on the ice and you want to add a fucking quad. In the second half. Are you insane?” I make faces at PJ, gesturing to Phil like he’s mentally ill.  
“What did I miss?” PJ looked inappropriately happy.  
“Phil is what you missed. A quad instead of the third triple flip is what you missed.”  
PJ put his head in his hands.  
“I’ll tell the judges. Go ahead, you fucking idiots.”  
“I never consented!” I yelled at PJ’s retreating figure, but Phil shushed me.  
“You will actually do it, right?” Phil pushed my shoulder and grinned at me with that stupid smile of his.  
“Yeah you nerd. I’ll do it.”  
We shared a little look, and for a moment I realized exactly how lucky I was. That face and that body and those fingers haven’t been the same, after almost twenty years as skating partners, but the sense of security and warmth and those eyes have always been there, have always been my rock, my own little oasis in the icy desert of the rink.  
The announcer’s voice boomed across the rink and we had to get up.  
Cameras surrounded us on every side, and I could see only a few familiar faces in the sea of humans that drowned my field of vision. I struggled a bit with getting the skate guard off the blade, and Phil elbowed me.  
“Thought you could balance better than that. Should I even trust you on the ice?” He laughed, his tongue sticking out a bit.  
“Fuck you too; I’ll drop you, just wait.” I elbowed him back and stepped on the ice, feeling the newly repaired ice flowing under my skate.  
“Okay, the..the quad after the combination spin. The rest of the jumps in the second half are triples, right?” I said.  
“Yes. Just rely on muscle memory for the rest. We’ve been practicing long enough.” Phil nodded.  
“Don’t step on my balls. Remember where the padding is, please.”  
Phil patted the padding on my thighs where the blade of his skates left many a painful imprint over the years.  
“Alright. Cool. Let’s do this”

We slipped into the opening position, back to back, hands intertwined, heads resting together, and our feet in a haphazard twist. For a moment, we had a moment of peace, on the ice, just ourselves and the deafening silence. The music started, and suddenly I switched to auto drive. Fourth beat in, and Phil jumped. The jump shocked my muscles into motion, and my left foot struck out against the ice while I lifted Phil up onto my back. It was a good speed to start, and suddenly I couldn’t tell where I ended and Phil started. It didn’t matter, though, because we were one on the ice.  
The first jump came up, and Phil, skating backwards, looked me in the eye and mouthed “triple”.  
It’s a triple. I knew that. I kept my hands on his hips, and the muscles tensed underneath my fingers. I heard the synth pad in the music building and I lifted Phil up in a spread eagle.  
The cymbals crashed and Phil flew up in the air.  
One, two, three, and he was back on the ground. I took his right hand and smiled.  
Footwork, we did two more triples independently, spinning, going across the rink in a way that we could never remember on our own, and then it was the first quad. I felt my heart in my mouth as he went way up high and turned once-twice-thrice-four and landed, his arms lifted high above his head.  
I couldn’t get over how he did that.  
He gripped my waist and nodded. My turn. I couldn’t do it with my hands above my head, but I with Phil’s help I could do four and a half spins-commonly known as an axel-and land on the right foot. I wavered a bit a few seconds after, but we were holding hands, so I just held on to Phil.  
More synchronized dancing, bopping to Muse, twists, spins, choreography, fun fun fun. Then it was the second half and the unexpected quad. Phil—wide eyed and bambi-esque—nodded furiously. We can do this, he said through his eyes. I smiled. Yeah we can.  
It was a difficult entry, a spread eagle, and I made sure I had an extra good grip on Phil’s waist and hips. I added another push to get the speed, and bam! up went Phil. I was suddenly grateful for the days I didn’t skip arm day in the gym.  
One  
Two  
Three  
Four  
...and a half?  
Right, we’d planned a triple axel.  
He landed a little hard, but I tugged on his arm and bent against the ice. Over rotated? Under rotated?  
I didn’t care, because it was the combination spin now, a dangerous mix of blades and fingers and hair and heaving breaths. Up, down, elbow, legs stick out, some weird cousin of the lay back spin, a thing where we had to hold on to each other for dear life. Phil’s hands were cold again.  
Triple flip, double toe independently, looking towards Phil every other moment to make sure we were in sync. I relied partly on Phil and partly on Matt Bellamy’s familiar voice to pace myself.  
Spin-fuckin-spin  
Whoosh there went the judges  
I saw a bit of PJ’s face, jumping up and down and pumping his fists.  
The rest?  
Muscle memory--or in different terms, no memory because I could not recall.  
Ending pose, and Phil was sliding on the ice, gripping my hands, and we ended up on the ice, nose to nose, arms around each other, and skates in a horrific tangle. According to the choreographer, it was a “beautiful pose” and “cute af”. The ice was numbingly cold, though I could barely feel it with the adrenaline coursing through my body. The tip of Phil’s nose was cold as well, and I could hear him breathing, could feel every heave of his chest, and could see the blue irises of his eyes stare right into mine. The music softly faded out, and when we were sure it was done, we collapsed on the ice, holding onto each other. I hugged Phil tighter than I’ve ever had before. Even when we had to get up and leave, I was still holding onto his hand.  
I never wanted to let go.

A smiling lady threw a bouquet of flowers on the ice, and I picked them up and handed them to Phil.  
“For you.”  
Phil smiled, his face lighting up in happiness and pride.  
“Thank you, Dan.”


End file.
